Probably the most consistent question I get is, “What are you reading?”

Right now, I’m reading The Secret of the Temple by John Michael Greer. It’s a nice bridge between the Pagan and Masonic worlds for me, which often feel like they’re separated by a rather wide chasm.

I finished Eliade’s The Sacred and the Profane a few weeks ago. Actually, I’m reading this one and the book by Greer for a lecture I’m writing for one of the Masonic bodies I’m a member of. I’m also working my way through Piers Vaughan’s Renaissance Man and Mason with a Masonic group.

Other than that, I’ve been reading some entries on Theoi, which is a great resource if you’re interested in Hellenic gods. I’m also looking to score a copy of Philip Freeman’s Celtic Mythology, which seems like it has a really great presentation of the ancient Celts and how we know what we know about them.

I’m always looking for new books, so if you have any books to recommend, let me know in the comments below.



This weekend I did some traveling to visit my family. I think I’m like most people in my love-hate relationship to travel. You’re inevitably crammed into a small space with less leg room than you want, and the trip always seems to be exactly one hour too long. My trip has included a fifteen-minute walk, a half hour ferry ride, another half hour on the subway, another fifteen minutes of walking, and a bus trip, plus repeating the whole process in reverse after two days.

Yet I love to travel. Almost no matter where I’m going, I enjoy it. As a kid I could sit and stare out the window of the car for hours on family road trips, and I have lots of good memories of car games with my sisters. I saw a lot of America that way, through the tempered glass of a car window. My love of experiencing new places never dissipated, and although I don’t usually think of myself as intrepid, it gave me a certain resolve that helped me with challenges like moving to New York with only two bags right after college. When travel is central to who you are, you find that in a way you’re most comfortable when you’re on the move, even when being on the move is uncomfortable.

When you travel, you bring certain things with you and pick up other things along the way. Some of them are physical items, like the Masonic tie I bought a few weeks ago in another state, or the one pound coins I brought back from Britain twelve years ago and gave to my family.

Some of those things, though, are in the mind. You let go of some old ideas, keep others, and adopt some new ones. It happens whether you want it to or not, although having an open mind will make the process less painful.

Eclipse Update

Hi everyone!  It’s been a while and I’ve missed this blog.  A lot has been going on in life, so I wanted to give an update for those of you who are still following.

First off, I’m writing a book!  I’ve threatened to do it before.  This time, though, it’s actually happening.  I’m on chapter three of a book about meditation for Pagans.  I realized that while there are lots of great books on meditation out there, most of them are written from an eastern (usually Buddhist) perspective, or they go for a kind of generic therapeutic western mindfulness approach.  As for Pagan books, there are several good ones on trance work and altered states of consciousness, but that’s not the same as meditation.  I thought it was high time for a good Pagan book on the subject, so I’m making the attempt myself.  I’ll share some excerpts in the future.

The only problem is now I have so many other ideas for books, and so little time to write.

My Faery (Feri) coven has been going through some changes.  We’re a coven (or technically grove, since two of us are students) of three, and one of my covenmates just moved upstate for an excellent career opportunity.  That’s great for him, but it will complicate things going forward.  Still, we all agreed that we want to keep going, and we’re going to make it work.  The upshot is that we’ll probably be able to do some outdoor rituals upstate in the near future, which I’m excited about.

Masonically, I’ve been busy.  I’m moving up the officer’s line in my lodge, which means more responsibility.  I love it though.  Masonry is such a beautiful thing, and the ritual and fellowship have become cornerstones (pun intended) of my life, so I don’t mind devoting a lot of time to it.  I’m also an officer in my Royal Arch chapter, and I just got invited to an invitation-only Masonic body that I can’t say much about.

I’ve been reading David Abram’s Becoming Animal, which is a great book that every nature-oriented Pagan should read (although his prose gets a bit over-the-top sometimes).  I’ve also been reading Vivianne Crowley’s The Magical Life.  What can I say?  I found it in a used book store for $5, and I have a soft spot for the eclectic Wiccan books everyone loves to criticize lately.

Finally, on a lighter note, I got a chance to watch the eclipse today.  New York wasn’t the best place to be viewing it (from here it was only partial) but it was still amazing.  My coworkers whipped up (well, made our intern whip up) some pinhole projection viewers since we couldn’t get our hands on any eclipse glasses.  It was a nice way to start off the week.

I hope everything is well with all of you.  And if you’re in America, I hope you got a chance to see the eclipse.  I have to say, fall is my favorite season, both climatically and magically, and the eclipse felt like a great beginning to it.

Prayer Beads


Just for fun I thought I’d post another ritual item I’ve made.  This set of prayer beads is made from snowflake obsidian beads with tiny ice flake quartz beads used as spacers.  The key bead is a ceramic scarab from Egypt, which was a gift from a friend.

In many forms of Witchcraft it’s traditional for the women—especially the High Priestess—to wear necklaces, even when working skyclad.  Faery is generally more gender fluid, though, so in my coven we all wear beads—male, female, and trans alike.


Finished Fresco Box

A while back I posted a few pictures of a little fresco box I was working on to honor one of the Mighty Dead.  I just realized recently that I never posted pictures of the finished work.  IMG_1626



In addition to the frescos on the inside, I added some things to the exterior.  The symbols were burned into the wood.  Next I painted the top and bottom of the box with gouache, and sealed the whole thing with multiple coats of olive oil.

The top shows the Pearl Pentacle and the bottom shows the Iron Pentacle.  The four sides of the box are burned with six-pointed stars; as this symbol contains the traditional glyphs for all the elements, it signifies elemental balance.


We’re coming up on one of Witchcraft’s high holidays, a very special time in the ritual year of your average Pagan, which will be marked by events and rituals all over Pagandom.

Which, of course, is why we can’t agree on what to call it.

These days, most Pagans call it Mabon. People are quick to point out that this “isn’t a traditional name” for the holiday.  If by “traditional” they mean dating back to prehistoric times and centered around a cave painting somewhere in rural France, then they’re quite correct.

Mabon is actually a name—not of a holiday but a person.  Specifically, it’s a reference to Mabon ap Modron from Welsh mythology.  As a name for the holiday it goes back to the early 1970’s when it was used in the rituals of the New Reformed Orthodox Order of the Golden Dawn, written by Aidan Kelly.

Most people using this name have no connection to NROOGD.  It’s still a rather localized tradition, after all, found mostly in the western US.  What’s more, most Witches and Pagans in the US are eclectics who have no initiation in any lineaged traditions, much less NROOGD.  So “Mabon” is completely non-traditional.

Or is it?

Forty-five years is a good while.  Any institution that has been around for that long deserves a certain amount of respect, if only for its endurance.

And it runs deeper than that.  NROOGD was perhaps the first openly created Pagan tradition in America.  It never claimed to be the “Old Religion” or Traditional Wytchcræft ™.  Instead, it’s founders openly acknowledged their conscious construction of it.  In this way it signified and typified the emergence of a singularly American Paganism.  This form of Paganism and Witchcraft would reverberate throughout the Pagan landscape of this country and beyond.

The fact is that every word has to come from somewhere.  Sure, Mabon is a character in Welsh myth.  And yes, he probably was originally a Gaulish god named Maponos.  All of that is important and there’s much good in reminding people of that.  Some, however, insist that we should only use words in whatever their historical sense was because “words have power, damn it!”

Yes.  Yes they do.  The problem is, the greatest power words have is that of the shapeshifter.

Very quickly words change.  They change their spelling.  They change their pronunciation, as nearly our entire English vocabulary did in the Greater Vowel Shift during the Renaissance.  Even more, they change their meanings, whether we like it or not.  Sometimes they have double meanings—do you have a right hand and a left hand, or a correct hand and an abandoned hand?  Is Mabon the name of a god?  Sure.  Is it also the name of a holiday?  I don’t see why not.

And when we say it’s “not traditional,” what do we mean?  My predecessors in Paganism, the people I learned from—directly or indirectly—called the autumnal equinox Mabon.  That name was handed down to me.  It may have originated in modern North America—but so did I.  So did the tradition of Witchcraft I study.  For that matter, so did most of eclectic Craft.  

Why call it Mabon?  It’s traditional.

Daily Practice

Meditate. Visualize. Journal.

Meditate. Visualize. Journal.

Meditate. Visualize. Journal.

In the last few years, a rather large crop of books, blogs, and other media have popped up in the Pagan community. They’re concerned with a topic that seems to be of increasing interest: daily practice. I even wrote a few posts on this topic myself a year or two back. I shared with others the dream of having a full and elaborate practice, something beautiful, intricate, and pleasantly pious —like a proverbial Buddhist monk walking around, prayer beads at his fingertips, spouting wisdom with every exhalation. Like others, I wanted daily ritual and prayer and devotion to deepen my spirituality. As I pursued this I made an incredible discovery:

Daily practice is REALLY BORING.

Of course to say this in the Pagan community is like using profanity in a preschool. It’s practically considered blasphemous. As everyone knows, meditation, visualization, and journaling are these suuuuper deep spiritual practices that will give you amazing spiritual insights beyond anything that all those muggles/impious people/mere mortals can know. After all, that’s what it says in all the books! If it doesn’t bring you that, you must be doing it wrong.

I suffered under this mentality for quite a while. What am I doing wrong? I wondered.

I meditated and achieved some impressive internal states. But I was still just a person. I visualized and spirit journeyed, having visions of gods and spirits and all sorts of things. And I was still just a person. I recorded all of this super important stuff in my journal. And I was still just a person.

Growing up, something about the religion I was raised in always rankled me. It was that ever-present attitude that being human was somehow not enough—that in order to be worthy or valuable people we had to rise above being a normal person, rise above nature, rise above daily life itself.

It’s a foundational idea that underpins much of our culture—and several other cultures as well. People feel that life—real, true life—is something that exists in some place beyond, and we should spend all our earthly days grasping for it. We Pagans like to talk about how we’re better than all those people. Are we, though?

When I look around, I see a lot of restlessness. So many of the Pagans I know are constantly jumping—from one book to the next, one god to the next, one tradition to the next. We spend a great deal of time imitating any and every other culture. We criticize people who commit “cultural imperialism ” by being inspired by a few elements of a foreign religious tradition, but then steal the entire tradition ourselves. We are constantly searching for that new ritual, new system, new theology, new whatever that will finally bring us to…where were we trying to go again?

In my opinion, we fall into the same transcendental trap as the faiths many of us walked away from. We create an unattainable ideal, only to be frustrated when we fail to reach it. We focus on a hypothetical rather than the here and now. We visualize rather than do. We meditate rather than think. We journal rather than experience. We work ritual rather that make the real-world changes we might benefit from.

And yet I love being Pagan.

I still meditate. I still visualize. And I write down things that I want to remember. I still work rituals. Along the way though, I let go of expectations about those things.

These days, when people ask about daily practices, I tell them to wake up in the morning. Shower. Shave. Do whatever work you need to. Think of practical ways to make yourself and your community happier and healthier —and then actually do them. Go to a museum. Learn a new skill. In short, just be a person.

For me, that’s the very essence of Paganism: to live and live well. Devotion, meditation, ritual can all be part of this, but never forget that your primary job in this human life is to be a human.

So that’s the daily practice I recommend: Be human.

An Enchanted World

Before we started out, it was always important to find the right stick.  You needed one that was the right length—somewhere close to your own height.  It should be strong too; the thickness of your own grip was a good measure of its strength in relation to your weight.  But the staff was vitally important.  You’d use it as a third point of contact when going downhill.  You’d test any ground you weren’t certain of before you stepped on it.  When you came back up the ravine, you’d use it to grip the trunks of small trees and pull yourself up.

You had to wear bright colors, even if it wasn’t hunting season, just to make sure no one thought you were a deer or a wild turkey.

You had to know the terrain.  You had to know where the best descents and ascents were.  You had to know your bearings so you wouldn’t get lost.  But you also had to know where the secrets lived.

You had to know how to find the waterfall when the creek was dry so you could walk out on the ledge. You had to know which way to go from there to get to Flat Rock Cave.  If you knew the bottom of the ravine you could find the old cylinder full of bulletholes from hunters, and you could tell the story about the old conman who had promised to build a railroad there only to run off with the town’s money.  It didn’t really matter if the stories were true.

On the way back up you’d find the old section of picket fence that someone had left in the woods as a ladder on the steep incline.  In the winter, you’d sometimes find tracks at the top of the hill, distorted by the softness of the snow until you couldn’t tell the size of the animal that made them.

When I got to be older I explored other places.  I went to different states and explored.  I saw the ocean—several of them—and counted the waves in sevens.  I learned the difference between the Gulf and the Pacific by how they felt on my skin.

I even crossed the ocean.  I wandered the streets of London and climbed a mountain in Scotland.  I walked narrow medieval alleys in Canterbury and traced the course of the Isis in Oxford.  I touched the ancient stones at Avebury, amidst the bleating sheep.  I ate the blackberries that grow to size of a child’s fist between the graves at St. Cross.  I came back home and lived in the larget city in the country.

Along the way, I heard people talking, saying strange things.  How do we do it? they asked.  What theology do we have to believe?  This one—no, that one.  What rituals should we perform?  Wait, you’re doing it wrong!  How do we do it?  How?  How do we re-enchant the world?!

I don’t think I ever understood.  I nodded like I knew what they were on about.  Really, though, I didn’t get it.  Re-enchant the world?  When was it ever not enchanted?

When I was just a kid my dad would wake me up in the middle of the night sometimes to see a meteor shower or a lunar eclipse.  When I’d find an empty cicada shell Mom would give me a little mason jar to keep it in.  We’d watch deer wander into our backyard and we’d sit for long minutes just watching them eat.  Dad also taught me to love art, and Mom and Grandpa taught me to tell stories.  On my own I developed a love of history and a fascination with archaeology that my parents encouraged.  As an adult, no matter where I went, I found things to wonder at, beauty to appreciate, and sources of joy and awe that I can barely put into words.

I developed new ideas as an adult, of course.  I explored my own consciousness and found much to wonder at there.  I explored different spiritualities, and got to know my sexual life.

I grew into a very different perspective from my forebears.  Funny thing though: when we get together, my family and I find no shortage of common inspiration.  We still look up at the open sky and wonder at the stars.  We still watch the wildlife and feel grateful for the opportunity.  Dad and I still talk about art.  Mom and I still talk about books.  I laugh with my niece and nephew, wondering at the addition of these two new human beings to my life.

Re-enchant the world? When was it ever not enchanted?

Unicorn Ph.D.’s

I’ve been thinking about initiation lately.  Partly it’s because in a month or so I’ll become a Royal Arch Mason.  It’s also partly because Feri initiation probably isn’t that far away.  But largely, this post was inspired by a post over at Gardnerians—read it and follow; it’s a good blog.

As an aside, I’m not a Gardnerian.  I have great respect for that tradition and several friends who are initiates.  Hell, my Feri teacher is a Gardnerian Witch Queen—yes, that’s a thing, and yes, I’ve verified her credentials.

Not that it matters for me though, because one of the points I’m making is this: I’m a Feri student, not a Gardnerian student.  If/when I’m initiated, it doesn’t make any difference whether my initiator was also an initiate in other traditions.  Feri initiation will be the only one conferred.  It’s rather like in Masonry.  Lots of guys are given the first degree by a Master who is also Royal Arch or 32° in Scottish Rite or some other thing.  But it makes no difference.  They received the first degree.  That’s it.

It’s the same way in Witchcraft.  The other initiations of your initiator don’t matter.

I’m not trying to be an initiation snob.  I don’t think that you aren’t a real Witch if you haven’t been initiated by someone.  One definition of “initiation” is simply the act of beginning.  In that sense, initiation is something you can do yourself.  In fact it’s something anyone who practices has already done.  That said, it gets trickier when you’re talking about a tradition.  Even if you had a complete and accurate Book of Shadows and all the relevant secret names, etc., technically you could start practicing, but you wouldn’t be formally recognized as part of that group, which is another valid definition of initiation, and it’s the definition that lineaged traditions use.  So can you be a self-initiate of Gardnerian or Alexandrian or Feri?  Not in any sense that members of those traditions would recognize.  Doreen Valiente was in favor of self-initiation, but only in a vague, general, non-Gardnerian sense.  Sorry, them’s the breaks.

The only disagreement I have is about the word “Wicca.”  Here I would have to point out that it’s an old Anglo-Saxon word that just means “witch.”  Its earliest attestation is from the 9th Century (well into the Christian era in England).  It has never been exclusive to Gardnerian or related traditions.  For example, J.R.R. Tolkien used it in early drafts of LOTR to refer to Gandalf and Saruman.  In fact, it basically is the same word as “witch,” just an older spelling and pronunciation. Thus no one can really claim ownership of it.  Gerald Gardner claimed to be one of “the Wica,” not the Wicca.  Plus, until sometime in the 1980’s, Gardnerians and Alexandrians most commonly referred to their practice as Witchcraft.  It was people like Scott Cunningham who popularized the use of Wicca as a term for their craft.  (And in case you were wondering, no, I’m not a Cunningham fan.)

In some ways Feri has had a similar problem.  They used to call it Faery and get annoyed when other people called their practice Faery Witchcraft.  The problem was that “faery” is another of those pesky old words that predates the tradition, which is why they eventually created the term Feri—well, that and a few other reasons.  Lately there’s been some controversy over that name, but it’s all internal.

And in fact, this loose, eclectic milieu that’s commonly called Wicca is something you can self-initiate into—in both senses of the word.  You can begin practicing on your own and simultaneously be recognized as part of the group.  You may not like the group, and that’s fine.  But they’re going to keep on doing what they do because they can.  Sorry, them’s the breaks.

But if someone says he’s a self-initiated Gardnerian, just smile and tell him about your self-awarded Ph.D. in Unicorn Studies.